Cold
by Randiriel the Scribe
Summary: While it may come with a distinct political advantage, being only half-elven does have one major downside, as Lord Elrond soon learns in his great peril. Beyond the first threat of being forever crippled by the elements, he begins to fear that there might be a greater and darker malice behind the storm than they ever dared to imagine… Summary Change: 2/12/14- explanation inside.
1. Chapter One

**EDIT: 2/12/2014**

**As some of you may have noticed, I have changed the summary for this story. The reason for that is because this fanfic is rapidly evolving into something greater than I first planned. This was not going to be a long or complicated fanfic, but it would seem the story has other ideas as it refuses to stay within the bounds of the original plot. So, this story of mine is going to be longer and darker. Better? _That_ remains to be seen. But I can say with certainty that the characters will be faced with significantly higher stakes in coming chapters. And yes, Elrond is going to be in trouble.**

Chapter One:

It had all started innocently enough, in the form of scarce and tiny snowflakes falling gently down from the grey winter sky. Gradually they grew in number until there was a steady but light snowfall. This had not worried the small patrol of elves much at first, although they did alter their course to take them back to Rivendell sooner than they had planned.

Lord Elrond Half-elven strode cheerful and confident through the wilderness bordering his home, alongside his elven friends and companions. He was unusually light of heart that cold afternoon, and his steps were still lighter as he spontaneously quickened his pace to catch up with Lord Glorfindel, who had been walking alone slightly ahead of the rest of the group.

"Lord Glorfindel," Elrond called, slightly out of breath as he struggled to keep up with the unnecessarily swift Balrog-slayer. "If you wanted me to have fun so badly, you could try slowing down and paying some attention to your poor friend, for a start."

Glorfindel halted where he was and waited for Elrond to reach him before replying.

"Huffing and puffing already, I see? You really do need to get out more," the elf teased, as they resumed their stroll together. "You would be downright plump before long, so it is my responsibility to ensure that you get some much-needed exercise."

"Much-needed exercise, indeed!" Elrond exclaimed. "So you confess at last, and the real reason comes forth! It's not that you wanted to assist me in escaping the confines of my study for a day, or even that you though I needed a break. Far from it, your greatest worry is being stuck with an overweight elven lord!"

"Ah, you see right through me," Glorfindel laughed, before growing more serious. "Though to be truthful, the other reasons you named do concern me. You should heed my advice and join our patrols more often; I think it would be very good for you."

"I have no doubt," Elrond answered, his own mood becoming thoughtful. "But alas, my duties hinder me from doing what I would. Still, I do not regret it."

Being the Lord of Rivendell, while a very mentally and sometimes physically demanding job, was also very rewarding, and Elrond would never have changed a thing. By this point, the two lords had reached the top of a wide hill, and here Glorfindel suddenly halted.

"Very well, Lord Elrond, I now grant you a brief rest, since you are clearly in need of one," the elf said mischievously, unable to resist the jab at his good friend. Ignoring Elrond's indignant protests, Glorfindel took in the view around them and assessed the situation. The snowfall was getting worse, and rapidly. The elf had lived far too long not to recognize the ominous brewing a storm, and Glorfindel frowned as he considered what this new development might mean.

"I've changed my mind," he said, abruptly interrupting Elrond, who was _still_ complaining, mid-sentence. "It looks like we could have a bad snowstorm, or possibly even a blizzard, on our hands, so you'll have to rest later."

Elrond gaped at him for a moment, before quickly getting a hold of himself. "Right, well, what do you suggest we do?" the half-elf enquired.

"We probably wouldn't be able to make it back to Rivendell in time," Glorfindel theorized, "so we should seek shelter while we can. Our best chance is to outwait the storm in a cave nearby."

"Do you know of any?" Elrond asked curiously. Glorfindel had been on many more patrols than Elrond ever had, and was far more familiar with the wilderness.

"There is a small one a little ways south of here. If I remember correctly, it should be ideal for us, as the entrance faces west," Glorfindel replied. The foul East Wind was already assailing them, and Elrond looked grim as he called to the others who were approaching behind them. This gathering storm was strangely sudden, and that it blew from the East did not bode well with him at all. When the few other elves arrived, Elrond hastily explained the situation.

"Hurry!" Glorfindel urged. "I fear we might be running short on time, and we must find the cave before the blizzard gets too thick!" For by then, it was obvious that what they faced would be no mere snowstorm.

"But pick up any kindling or wood you may find along the way!" Elrond ordered, always the one to think ahead. "We'll probably need as much as we can get before this is over."

Appreciating his foresight, they all did so as they ran, led and guided by Lord Glorfindel. Relying on his sharp elven vision like never before, Glorfindel almost frantically scanned the area for any sign of a cave as they passed. The snow was falling harder. The wind howled, and it battered everything in its way mercilessly. The temperature was steadily falling, and the ground was soon covered in rapidly mounting snow. Within minutes, even the elves began to squint against the blinding whiteness.

Besides obscuring their vision and making it difficult to hear, the frigid weather did not seem to bother the elves overly much. They simply ran lightly over the surface of the snow, and they could resist the cold for now. But the patrol knew that even they couldn't withstand a blizzard forever, with no shelter or fire. Their chief concern was finding the cave. At last Glorfindel spotted it- the entrance to a small, almost hidden cave against the side of a slight cliff. He'd nearly missed it altogether in the storm, but now here they were. After shouting to the others in triumph that he'd found the shelter, Glorfindel hurried over to it with the rest gratefully following.

Once they were all huddled inside, Glorfindel allowed himself a slight grin. "See, I found it," he said, as if any of them had ever doubted that he could.

"What if this blizzard lasts for days?" worried a younger and more pessimistic elf. "We might run out of provisions and starve! Or what if we run out of firewood first? We'll freeze! Or what if -"

"We'll deal with that when it comes to it," Glorfindel said sternly, cutting the other elf off. "For now, we should probably get a fire started. Nothing too big though; we want to preserve firewood, wouldn't you agree Lord Elrond?"

But Elrond didn't answer. Looking around in dismay, the elves realized with a sickening jolt that they were missing someone- someone important.

"Oh, Valar," Glorfindel whispered hoarsely. "Where is he?"


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two:

_But Elrond didn't answer. Looking around in dismay, the elves realized with a sickening jolt that they were missing someone- someone important._

"_Oh, Valar," Glorfindel whispered hoarsely. "Where is he?"_

Lord Elrond had fallen behind. He could run over snow just as any elf, but he did have to invest much more focus and energy into it. At first he could easily run with the rest of the patrol, but as the minutes slowly dragged by, his legs began to feel heavier. Stubborn determination prevented him from mentioning it, even though he was forced to fall behind some. None of the other elves observed this, for all of their attention was bent of finding the cave and getting there as quickly as possible. But the rapid pace was taking its toll unnoticed on one of their number. Once Elrond began to feel weary, the fatigue only grew steadily worse, and soon he caught himself wishing the others would slow. But his pride still stood in the way, and so Elrond said nothing.

At last the exertion became too much, and Elrond suddenly stumbled. He fell with a startled cry, and collapsed to his knees in the deep snow. Hastily as he could, Elrond struggled to his feet. He would have then resumed running, except he unexpectedly sank through the snow when he attempted to take a step. Shocked, he tried again, and nearly lost his balance. Lord Elrond had abruptly found himself over knee-deep in freezing cold snow.

"Glorfindel!" Elrond shouted in fear, only for his voice to be lost to the wind. No one answered, and looking around himself all Elrond could see was an ever-shifting wall of white. Feeling as he'd been struck, blind panic set in.

"Glorfindel!" The half-elf was almost beyond frantic now, and he desperately plowed his way through the snow in the general direction he thought they must have went. Elrond screamed the names of the elves in his patrol over and over again, but the only answer forthcoming that he could hear was the lonely and menacing howl of the wind.

Elrond had long known that his sight and hearing, while many times sharper than those of even the most alert of humans, could still not match those of the full-blooded elves. This had never mattered before. But now, stumbling and confused in the midst of the worst blizzard he had ever experienced, he cursed that weakness fiercely. He could see nothing, could barely hear anything, and now he was so badly disoriented he hadn't the faintest idea which direction he was going.

Elrond would never be able to remember how long he forced his way through the snow. It felt like it must have been hours, but there is no way to know how accurate that was. Finally Elrond came to a halt, not out of choice but from sheer exhaustion. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered that he did not feel well. The cold was slowly invading through the inadequate cloak he had unwisely chosen to wear, and it had already stolen the feeling from his fingers and toes. Elrond's ears and face stung, for they were almost completely unprotected. Elrond hurriedly pulled his hood up, and wondered why he had not done so before. The numbness was spreading and the increasing chill was quickly sapping his strength.

Never mind the cave and the others, he had to find a makeshift shelter of some sort, or he would not last. Though he was loath to admit his human weakness, it was obvious he could not resist the cold nearly as long as a normal elf might, even if he was wearing proper snow gear- which he wasn't.

Blinking furiously, Elrond thought he could barely catch a glimpse of the dark forms of trees ahead. Forcing his tired limbs to move, Elrond practically dragged himself in that direction.

When at last he reached the foot of the first tree, Elrond leaned against its trunk gratefully for a moment. From what he could tell, blinded as he was, the tree must have been truly ancient. It was tall and wide, and its bark was thick and gnarled. Positioning himself on the west side of the tree, so as to shield against the wind, Elrond weakly sank to the ground and curled up tightly.

He was completely untrained when it came to wilderness survival, something he now deeply regretted as foolish. He simply did not know what to do. Should he keep moving, to avoid freezing to death? Should he stay put? Whatever he should have done, the choice was no longer left to Elrond. He slipped slowly from consciousness.

Glorfindel shut his eyes and took several deep breaths as he struggled to think rationally. Finally he opened them and addressed the anxious patrol surrounding him.

"We must look for Elrond- but not all of us. Who among you has the sharpest vision?"

"That would Caranor," one of the elves answered. Another stout young elf (what had possessed him to bring so many young elves on such an ill-fated patrol?) stepped forward. Glorfindel barely glanced the elf over before nodding.

"Caranor and I will go search for Lord Elrond," he said. "The rest of you, stay here. Build a fire, and keep watch. If we don't return soon- whatever you do, _do not _come after us, understand? When the storm lets up enough, head for Rivendell immediately."

When Glorfindel was assured that the others knew what to do, he and Caranor ventured back out into the raging blizzard. As they set forth, Glorfindel prayed to each and every one of the Valar, save Mandos. He grimly though that it would _not_ be a very good idea to pray to that particular Vala right now.

Glorfindel had been the one to drag Elrond out on their patrol. And even worse, he had let his friend go missing when it was his duty to protect the Elf Lord always. If this proved to be the death of Elrond… Forcing the despairing thoughts from his mind, Glorfindel poured all of his concentration and resolve into one thing. They had to find Lord Elrond, before it was too late.

**A/N: I could lie and say I'm sorry about all the cliffhangers… except I'm not. I hope you all brought elven rope, because you're going to need it a lot before this story is over.**

**There will be NO SLASH in this story. The rating might go down later on, but it depends. **

**I know it's awesome that I'm updating this fic in only one day, but don't expect it to happen again anytime soon. I'm a busy person, and I don't get to write as often as I would like. Still, I can promise that I'll at least try to update frequently.**

**I've got a complete outline for this story, but I really have no idea how long it will be. When I sit down to write, plots tend to go places I never expected. **


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

_Forcing the despairing thoughts from his mind, Glorfindel poured all of his concentration and resolve into one thing. They had to find Lord Elrond, before it was too late._

It was fortunate that Glorfindel brought Caranor along, for it was the sharp-eyed young elf who spotted them.

"Glorfindel! Over here!" he called, gesturing with excitement at something on the ground.

After rushing over to his companion's side, Glorfindel knelt to closer inspect Caranor's find. They were deep tracks, deep enough to have not been completely filled with snow yet. The tracks had not been left by any animal. Someone had plowed his or her way through the snow, and not long ago. Glorfindel's heart leapt, before promptly sinking again. Elrond was able to walk over snow- he would not have left tracks like this. Or at least, not if he was well.

But these tracks were their only lead and their only hope, Glorfindel decided. Not letting himself doubt for a moment, he took off at a run to follow them before they were covered and lost in the blizzard, with Caranor quick behind.

As the two elves followed the trail, it was almost immediately obvious that whoever had left the tracks was completely lost and disoriented in this storm. The trail did not go straight, but instead veered left or right unpredictably. Despite this, it led in a more-or-less northerly direction as Glorfindel had guessed.

They ran as fast they could force themselves to move, consciously aware of every passing moment. They did not have much time, every fleeting second was a second lost. Suddenly Glorfindel faltered.

"Where is the trail? Where is it?!" Frantic, Glorfindel whirled around and around in place as he scanned the snow. It was gone! Gone! How had he lost it? How could he? Swallowing hard, Glorfindel stood still and attempted to clear his mind. He could not afford to panic, he had to think, he had to find it again, he had to…

"Glorfindel!" Caranor shouted, pointing in the distance. "Look!" Glorfindel looked, and saw a cluster of tall trees not far ahead. The elves could see them standing firm amidst the swirling white snow, but not without great difficulty.

"Elrond might have headed there for shelter!" Caranor rationalized.

Glorfindel thought the chance was slim, but it was a chance nonetheless. Although he was reluctant to abandon the spot where he had lost the trail, he somehow doubted that it could ever be found again. So with some hesitation, he chased after Caranor who was already racing towards the trees.

The trees loomed dark but reassuring. Though most of the trees lay dormant and sleeping, a few had been recently awoken. No sooner had the elves passed beneath their ice-laden branches when the trees began to attempt communication.

"_Help him,"_ they whispered. _"Help him!"_

Knowing instantly who they meant, Glorfindel addressed the trees out loud.

"Where is he? Please tell us!"

In response, the trees guided the two elves, silently directing them to one especially old tree which stood a little apart from the rest. Caranor was the first to see it. With a cry, the young elf sprang forward and knelt by what at first seemed nothing more than a snow-covered mound. An instant later, Glorfindel realized who it was.

"Lord Elrond!" he gasped, and swiftly joined Caranor by the half-elf's side. After brushing most of the snow off Elrond, Glorfindel took in his friend's condition with growing distress. It was not good. Elrond's face was paler than it had ever been, and his eyes were closed. To Glorfindel's alarm, the half-elf was eerily still and silent, as if in death.

Barely restraining his fear, Glorfindel quickly searched for a pulse. With everlasting relief, Glorfindel could easily feel it- the pulse was still strong, but far too rapid for his liking.

"He's alive!" Glorfindel nearly shouted for joy, and then laughed out loud. "He's still alive!"

"Not for much longer! See his hands!" Caranor exclaimed, aghast.

Elrond had not worn gloves; now his hands had turned swollen and red. But that was not what made Glorfindel's heart almost stop with horror.

"Oh, mellon-nin!" Glorfindel whispered in heartbroken pity. "Goheno nin…"

The tips of Elrond's stiff and frozen fingers had turned an ugly black.

"He's getting frostbite, we must take him back to the cave quickly before the damage goes too deep," Glorfindel declared.

Elrond's gentle, healing hands had saved many lives in the past, and it would be a tragedy that neither elf wished to think about if their lord's hands should be permanently marred. This is only furthered their determination.

After positioning the unconscious half-elf's limp body between them, both elves slowly lifted Elrond and carefully supported him.

"Where _is _the cave?" Caranor asked, looking around helplessly.

"This way- I think," Glorfindel answered. It would take more than a mere blizzard for him to lose all sense of direction, but even he was unsure.

Having no better options, the two elves bravely set out once more into the raging white storm. Elrond did not stir.

**A/N: This is the shortest chapter yet, but also the hardest one to write so far. I hope you all enjoyed it. I'm doing my best to get the medical conditions right, but please, **_**please**_** let me know if I get anything wrong. **

**On Elvish- I'll throw in a few elvish phrases here and there, most of which I got off of . I love that place.**

**On OC's- Yes, I have a (very) few OC's. NOT because I want them, but because I need them. Tolkien only wrote about so many elves; I need to fill in the blanks occasionally. Oh, and Caranor's name was agonized over for hours and carefully put together. It's not like I hastily went online and randomly picked a cool-sounding Sindarin name off of some list, spending all of two seconds in the process. Not at all.**

**To all reviewers- Thank you, thank you! And did I mention: thank you! You all have been very kind, and your comments had encouraged me a lot. But don't hesitate to leave constructive criticism. If you notice something I don't, it really benefits me to have it pointed out so I can fix it if possible.**


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

_After positioning the unconscious half-elf's limp body between them, both elves slowly lifted Elrond and carefully supported him._

"_Where is the cave?" Caranor asked, looking around helplessly. _

"_This way- I think," Glorfindel answered. It would take more than a mere blizzard for him to lose all sense of direction, but even he was unsure._

_Having no better options, the two elves bravely set out once more into the raging white storm. Elrond did not stir._

There were many advantages to being elven, but the ones that they were most grateful for that bitter day were their almost unnatural strength, swiftness, and resilience. Any human (or, apparently, half-elf) would have been overcome. But Glorfindel and Caranor both endured it without complaint, and even managed to make good time, all considering. Though the troubling question still remained- were they making good time _in the right direction_?

As Glorfindel's sweeping gaze searched the whirling snow around them unsuccessfully for any sign of the cave, he began to worry. To save Lord Elrond, whom he never should have lost in the first place, Glorfindel had not only risked his own life but Caranor's as well. And would all his efforts be for naught? Had he only succeeded in getting all three of them hopelessly lost in this thrice-cursed blizzard? Glorfindel knew that if they died, he would be the one responsible. That thought was more than he could bear, and as his mind pondered dark things that had not yet come to pass, the heavy burden of despair began to descend on his heart. The increasing futility of their situation was not helping. No landmark or sign of anything familiar was forthcoming.

The strain of cold and exhaustion was finally beginning to wear Caranor down, and the younger elf stumbled slightly. Glorfindel could feel himself weakening also, and he knew that their conditions would begin to rapidly deteriorate if the cave was not found soon. But a moment later, they both saw it- a distant flickering light, shining faintly just beyond the surrounding snowy haze that had come to mark the extent of their sight.

"A fire!" Caranor shouted jubilantly.

"A signal fire," Glorfindel called over the storm, feeling almost giddy with relief. "It is sustained by elven magic!" No ordinary flames could burn so brightly in this storm.

The others must have predicted this very trouble, and had accordingly disregarded Glorfindel's expressed wishes for them to preserve firewood. Though he feared that they would all pay dearly for it later on, now Glorfindel had never been so happy to see one of his orders disobeyed.

Hope and vigor restored, the two elves quickened their steps as much as they could without risking harm to Elrond, who disturbingly still hadn't stirred. Exhausted, when they at last reached the source of the light, and came close enough to see clearly the cave entrance that the large fire illuminated, they were greeted by a babbling crowd of anxious and questioning elves. Ignoring all inquiries, Caranor and Glorfindel rushed Lord Elrond into the cave and lay him gently down by a second, more moderate fire that had been built further inside the cave.

Upon seeing their lord's threatening condition, the other elves had fallen silent and easily made way. Now they seemed to barely resist the urge to crowd around the prone half-elf. They had each of them lived long enough to know when it was not wise to get in Glorfindel's way.

"We can't thaw his hands yet," Glorfindel told Caranor as they positioned Elrond as close to the fire as was safe. "But we have to get him warm!"

"Does anyone have an extra cloak?" he then asked the assembled elves. Looking around, he saw that none did. So without hesitation, Glorfindel removed his own cloak and wrapped it snugly around Elrond.

Glancing up, he noticed the shocked and concerned expressions on his companions' faces.

"He needs it more than I do," Glorfindel explained, giving them a strained smile.

With what resources they had, there was nothing else Glorfindel could do for his friend. As the blizzard still raged outside and the flames flickered and danced, casting strange shadows about the interior of the cave and on the downturned faces of the stressed elves huddled together inside, there was nothing left but to sit and wait.

Aragorn stood tense and alone on an open balcony, braced against the wind and heedless of the cold as he peering uselessly out into the swirling white that concealed everything. After a long moment, silent save the roar of the wind, he heard a voice speak unexpectedly close behind him.

"Estel, come inside, you'll be no help to anyone frozen to death. Even if they did come, you wouldn't see them in this storm. Let us do the watching."

Aragorn's face hardened with suppressed frustration and anger, before softening some as he turned to view the speaker.

"I know, Elladan," he said wearily. "But that's what I hate…"

"Not being able to help them. Knowing there's nothing you can do, nothing but wait and pray," Elladan finished for the distressed Ranger with a look of kind understanding.

Aragorn nodded slowly, and the elf sighed as he placed a hand on the human's shoulder and steered him back inside.

"I think we all hate that, Estel," Elladan told his troubled foster-brother gravely as they both sat down by a warm fire. "But it is something we all must learn to handle, especially those who hold or will hold great authority and responsibility. In this darkening world, often one cannot do anything to aid those he loves," he continued thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked sharply, even though he already had an idea what the elf was implying.

"No matter which destiny you choose, there will be times when you must wait, when you can do nothing," Elladan said boldly, in a rare display of straightforwardness for an elf.

"It is hard," Aragorn whispered quietly as he gazed into the dancing flames.

"That it is," Elladan agreed.

"Well, at least our family's notorious misfortune is not failing us now," Aragorn said after a pause, in a half-hearted and pitiful attempt to lighten the mood.

"No it is not," Elladan muttered, exasperated, thinking of the bizarre odds that the _one_ day Glorfindel managed to get Elrond out on a patrol would be the day of the worst, most sudden blizzard the elves had seen in centuries. It was a sobering thought, and it only served to increase the elf's worry for his father and friends. But for Aragorn's sake he smiled.

"_When_ Ada gets back-" he began, emphasizing the _when_, not _if_, "he will no longer be able to complain about _our _incredibly bad timing, for his will have been proven no better."

They both tried to laugh, but the sound was hollow and grim even to their own ears.

**A/N: And there it is- the fourth complete chapter! I meant to publish it last week, or over the weekend at the latest, but I was only able to do it today. Sorry about that, but I hope you all enjoyed it.**

**By the way, I am planning on going back later and editing the earlier chapters some. Mostly to fix grammar and spelling mistakes that slipped past me, and to fix a problem one helpful reviewer pointed out with my characterization of Elrond. But I don't know when I'll get to that; it might not be for a while. **

**Again, thank you everyone for taking the time to read and/or review my story. **


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

The storm raged about them, but did not touch him. He stood tall and stoic, unperturbed by the howling of the wind or the frigid temperatures. Light and power seemed to radiate from his very being, and his fine garb complemented it, for his armor gleamed a brilliant white. Intricate designs lined with silver gave the suit an elegant splendor that was truly unique. He took pride in that, knowing his armor was the most magnificent Arda had seen since the Elder Days. It was fitting.

His accompanying orcs made him stand out all the more, like a beacon or a star set against the black of night. His silver hair, which glistened in a strange and unnatural way, only added to the enchantment. If an unsuspecting mortal were to see him suddenly and not know better, this being might have been mistaken for a Vala.

But he was far from it. All of this, all of his beauty and glory- it was nothing. A mere illusion. There was no truth in it, for it did not reach beyond the surface. The entire display was no more than pride and false benevolence.

He had chosen not to be wreathed in mighty flame, like all the others before him. Grandeur can be represented by all the elements, as he fully intended to prove. He was not a Dark Lord, or at least he did not see himself as one. But he was strong, formidable, and cunning. He knew he was, and he knew that he was to be feared and respected.

The most infuriating thing was, no one else seemed to. He had always worked in someone else's shadow, both figuratively and literally.

He had set out to change that forever. It would take time, patience, and careful planning. That was fine; he'd had plenty of practice over the Ages.

His success had already begun. At long last, he was more than a fleeting wraith with neither face nor remembrance- the Valar should know. Neither was he still a gullible thrall of Morgoth. He'd been disillusioned about the purposes of his former master since well before the War of Wrath.

An unhappy orc who must've lost the roll of dice reluctantly approached him, obviously dreading the words to come.

"My Lord Helcáro?" it spoke gruffly, stopping a respectful (or was it safe?) distance away from him.

He smiled then; it was a pleasant and appealing smile. Perhaps it was meant to disarm, but if that was the intention, it quite failed. The orc only tensed- distrustful and immediately on guard.

Seeing its ineffectiveness, Helcáro let his warm expression drop with alarming speed into a contemptuous scowl.

"Well, what do you want?" he snapped sardonically.

Gathering up whatever courage it could muster, the orc declared boldly in the Black Speech, "We cannot proceed with the attack under these conditions."

Cold, piercing blue eyes narrowed at the brave orc, but it defiantly met his gaze and silently refused to be intimidated. Impressive, he mused to himself.

"Of course not," he said dismissively. "I have already ceased to fuel the blizzard's wrath. We will move quickly, now. I want everyone in position before the cover of the storm fails."

The orc gave a curt bow and turned to leave.

"Oh, and what is your name?" Helcáro enquired after it.

It paused and glanced back suspiciously.

"Balcmeg," the orc answered.

"First you are to oversee the rallying of the troops, but during the invasion of Imladris you are to remain by my side and relay orders. Understood?"

The orc only nodded gravely, and then left. But as soon as the he was out of Helcáro's sight, Balcmeg openly smirked. This was an even better development than anticipated; it would make his assignment infinitely easier to accomplish.

No, that would-be usurper would not taste victory, and would never possess Mordor. The Great Eye was always at least one step ahead, and it was of the worst folly to ever assume otherwise. Balcmeg's foremost job was to correct the esteemed Lord Helcáro of that rather _fatal_ mistake.

It would be his pleasure.

**A/N: Ah, and so we have our villain! Or do we? **

**I know this chapter was exceedingly (pitifully) short, but don't worry. I've been working hard lately on outlining and such, and I felt that you guys deserved at least something for the wait even if I wasn't ready yet. So here is what little I was ready to post, and I hope you enjoyed it. Consider this a promise of more and better to come, hopefully soon.**

**Also, while I'm thinking about it…**

**Where did all my precious reviewers go? (Gasp!) WHAT IF they've all been KIDNAPPED?! **

**Seriously though, any advice or comments at all are greatly appreciated, and thanks to all who did leave a review. You're the best!**


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The first thing he was aware of was the numbing cold. It was an awful, awful, bone-chilling cold that had settled deep inside of him, penetrating every part down to the core. He felt as if his very heart had become solid ice.

He lay paralyzed in the darkness, unable to move, think, or feel anything besides the agonizing, empty cold. He could have remained frozen like that for centuries, or hours, or even moments for all he knew.

Next came feeling- not warmth, mind you- but he gradually became aware of the existence of his own body. Moments later he was able to discern other things: the hard ground beneath him, the fact that he was lying on his back, and that something like a blanket had been draped over him.

Then his hearing began to return. At first every sound was muffled and distant, but as time went on every noise grew louder and closer, then better defined, and lastly they all became distinct from each other. He could now tell apart voices; they were worried and hushed as they spoke over him.

Who was it, who spoke now?

That voice… he should know who it was.

Elrond opened his eyes.

The light that flooded into his sight was blinding, despite coming from only a mere campfire. He quickly covered his face with his hands until he felt that his eyes had adjusted enough to risk uncovering them. Elrond did so, blinking, and absentmindedly glanced down at his hands. They were inky black- darker than orc's skin, to the extent of the unnatural. The strange black covered his entire hands; already it seemed to have begun creeping further, up Elrond's arms. In the time that no one was looking, what had first appeared to be frostbite at the tips of his fingers had grown and transformed itself into something far more menacing.

He stared uncomprehendingly. He didn't move. He didn't scream.

The fire flickered nearby, casting strange shadows all about the cave walls and floor. The moment of shock passed and realization dawned. Still, he remained eerily calm to the point of impassivity. The uncharacteristic fright of before that had seized him in the midst of the blizzard had suspiciously vanished, leaving him numb, but level-headed. In fact, he felt little of a response at all, besides mild shock and a queer, detached curiosity, almost as if this were not happening to him, but to someone else- a mere stranger.

Elrond took a deep breath and slowly sat up, thinking somewhere in the back of his mind that he should be more disturbed than he was; that this emotionless state was unnatural, and that it could only mean harm. But the thought had no power to fully form or lead to action. Whatever magic it was that had ensnared the half-elf, it retained its full grip even as his subconscious became aware that all was not well.

The elves sitting around him gasped and started babbling all at once when they perceived that their lord had awoken. They were silenced an instant later as Elrond held up his blackened hands to the light of the fire and nonchalantly studied them. If he was calm, they were not.

"Elrond-!" Glorfindel exclaimed.

"Are you well, milord?!" Caranor, who had watched over Elrond just as anxiously as Glorfindel, stammered.

Silence reigned again as Elrond looked up at them for the first time. Whether it was some warning in his expression, or lack thereof, the elves finally sensed that something was dreadfully amiss with Elrond, and it was not only with his hands…

Glorfindel did not like this blank look in his friend's eyes, not for an instant.

"Elrond," he urged, "Lord Elrond, what is it?"

Elrond's slightly vacant stare never wavered, though the half-elf now turned it to gaze at the speaker. Upon meeting Glorfindel's gaze, an odd tremor went through his body, but that was all. Immediately afterwards, Elrond's whole form became completely still, as motionless as if he had been cast into stone. There was no outward manifestation of the inward turmoil; the elves watching could not see the battle that raged.

But a battle there was.

_**Enemies**_**,**_** traitors!**_It whispered. _**You must escape!**_

"_Of course, I must run for it,"_ he thought. _"Before…"_

Some part of him suddenly revolted against It.

"_Wait! Who are they? Why are they enemies?"_

_**Do not question!**_ It was angry. _**Run while you can!**_

"_Yes, obviously, I must run…"_

But he did not. He remained where he was, for some inexplicable reason resisting against what could only be perfect logic…

_**Why do you stay still? RUN!**_

The final command came with such force Elrond almost moved, almost submitted fully to Its will. He would have, had it not been for the intervention of Vilya. The Third would not stand by quietly while its master was attacked so viciously. To Elrond, the arrival of the ring's presence in his mind was like an unexpected pillar of stability on which to stand, or a ray of light aimed to reveal the truth. It served as both. The part of him that was still his own suddenly rose up and pushed against the foreign, dark influence that was invading his very being. Gathering strength from the power of the ring, he wrestled It back into the farthest corners of his mind, but even as It was subdued, he could hear Its taunting laugh.

**Don't think it ends, half-elf. I will be waiting…**

**A/N: As it turns out, the reviewers weren't the only ones captured by Morgoth. I was held captive for weeks, but made a daring escape and journeyed through wild terrain, all for the noble cause of bringing you this chapter! Just so you know... when the going was really tough... it was only the thought of all my wonderful readers that brought me the courage to strive against the forces of darkness and writer's-block. (Sniff)**

**Okay, so enough of that. In all seriousness, I am sorry that I've been absent for so long. I will to try to be a more responsible writer!**

**There was plenty of Elrond in this chapter, just for you GreyLynx! I was going to do an upcoming Rivendell chapter instead, but since the general consensus was for our favorite Elf Lord, I did this one first. **

******Please let me know what you think about this latest plot-twist. I'm kind of nervous about its reception because it is admittedly the weirdest plot I've ever dared to publish. **

**Thank you so much, everyone, both reviewers and just-readers! You're all amazing.**


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

The walls and roof of the outer building creaked and trembled under the storm's vicious onslaught. Despite these protests, Elrohir knew that the structure had been built by capable hands to endure, even to the extreme of withstanding a malevolent gale such as this. Still, it was unnerving to be separated from the expressed wrath of the East Wind only by mere, thin wooden walls. The combination of the fearsome blizzard raging all about the miniature building and the shelter's constant groaning made it almost more bearable to be out in the tumult itself than to be imprisoned with the miserable tension inside.

The son of Elrond sat apprehensively in a plain chair that had been pulled up near the fire. On his twin brother Elladan's insistence, he had come to seek temporary shelter and warm his hands after a strenuous hour exposed to the elements. Elrohir was experiencing far more comfort than many unlucky elves at the moment. He hated every second of it.

Elrohir fingered the edge of his thick grey cloak and first slouched, then shifted irritably in his seat. He watched the small flames crackle in the hearth and absently listened to the howling of the blizzard outside. Abruptly, he sat up alert and listened intently. After an anxious moment he determined with mounting joy that it had not been his imagination; the storm really was dwindling! Springing to his feet, he pulled his cloak further about him and raised the hood. It seemed to Elrohir that he had idly heeded his twin's instruction long enough.

Only moments ago, it would have been a slight struggle to open the door, and short battle to step out of it. Now to Elrohir's delight the door swung readily open and the wind he braced himself against was of a more natural strength. In fact, he found that he could stay upright without too much trouble, instead of trudging bent double like an old man as he had before. Feeling a surge of jubilation well up inside his chest, Elrohir sprang nimbly forward and wasted no time in sprinting the short distance to Rivendell's far eastern wall. He flew up its narrow steps and into the midst of the few startled guards and look-outs standing watch atop it. Laughing, Elrohir proudly threw back his hood, and standing tall shook his fist towards the East.

"You haven't got us yet!" he shouted gleefully, and to his brother's consternation and Aragorn's secret delight, the action earned Elrohir many a peculiar look from the elves nearby.

"Has anyone ever told you what is considered socially odd?" Elladan asked with an exasperated sigh that, though Elrohir couldn't hear it thanks to the roar of the wind, didn't take much imagination to know was there.

"You have, thousands of times," was Elrohir's cheeky reply.

"Tell me, is the blizzard finally ending, or is it just wishful thinking on my part?" Aragorn interjected before the twin's usual jabs could have a chance to escalate further. Elladan thankfully forgot any intentions to engage his brother as he considered this.

"I do believe it is!" he exclaimed. "I told you, it would be over."

"But still no sign of them," Elrohir said doubtfully.

"Of course not. They've sought shelter somewhere, and the storm is only now letting up. Just be patient and you'll see. They're probably on their way here even this very moment," Aragorn said with more confidence than he felt.

"Right, I wasn't thinking," Elrohir answered, but he didn't sound entirely convinced. He wasn't alone. Though they were all cheered by the failing of the storm, few of their worries were appeased. None would rest easily again until their friends were back unharmed.

"I'll relieve you 'Dan," Elrohir said after the pensive silence had extended farther than he cared for.

Elladan looked guiltily thankful and accepted the offer wordlessly. As the twin left to go indoors Aragorn made as if to follow, but lingered behind for a moment. The Ranger gazed up at the still-snowing sky. The snowflakes fell more softly now, through the crisp and cold air. The wind had almost died. All the glistening white snow and ice that covered everything about them like a shining blanket was truly dazzling to behold, and the sudden, still quiet cast a peaceful enchantment on the world.

"It seems almost pleasant now," the Ranger marveled aloud. "I might have called it beautiful…"

"The wonders of Nature often hold a perilous beauty," Elrohir conceded. "I would be more inclined to welcome this snowfall had it not just threatened all that I hold dear."

Elsewhere, as Elladan entered a large building on Rivendell's outskirts, he halted with shock when he heard a far-too-young voice enthusiastically greet him.

"Hello, lord sir!"

He looked all around without seeing the speaker. After an embarrassingly long moment, he finally thought of looking down. There, standing in front of him, was what appeared to be a tiny, red-headed midget.

"Hello!" She said again boldly, staring at up at him with curious, wide green eyes. "Is the patrol found yet, sir?"

Taken aback, Elladan had to quickly gather his wits in time to manage a somewhat coherent reply. He only succeeded in stammering, "You- what! An elfling!?"

Later he would declare that to not be one of his finer moments. However, in his defense, he was still in surprise at unexpectedly seeing before him something he'd only heard about in legends of ages past.

At that moment, an elven maid, clearly the child's mother with the same bright red hair, came forward and introduced herself.

"Milord," she said with some embarrassment and a curtsy. "Forgive my daughter's impudence."

"Who are you?" Elladan asked, and would later regret not having recovered his manners. Fortunately, the maid seemed either to not care or notice the lord's unintentional curtness.

"We are new here, milord- from Greenwood originally. This is only our second day here, actually."

"Oh," was all he said. He now recalled hearing some news about recent arrivals from Greenwood. At the time, he had been distracted by something Elrohir said and hadn't paid attention to that part of the dinner discussion. If anyone had mentioned the rare elfling, he hadn't heeded the words spoken.

"Is Lord Elrond okay?" the elfling asked.

Finally regaining his composure, Elladan looked back down to the little girl with a sad smile.

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "I hope so, little one."

"I hope so too," she answered. "I hear he's nice!"

"He is," Elladan said with mild amusement.

To the maiden's apparent relief, the child then decided the conversation was over and scampered off without further mortifying her mother.

"I've never seen an elfling," Elladan mused. "I thought our race was dwindling beyond hope."

"There's hope yet, milord," the mother said slowly, as she observed her daughter's retreating form with obvious fondness.

"So I see there is," he replied. "Your daughter is a precious gift of Iluvatar."

"She's my Silmaril," she commented, then immediately realized what she'd said and who she'd said it to. Blushing, the maiden hastily curtsied and went after her daughter.

Pondering to himself, Elladan stood in place and quietly watched them both go.

"_There is hope yet,"_ he thought.

That's when he heard the first screams.

**A/N: So, what do you guys think of that? Rivendell's in trouble, isn't it?**

**Let me stress again that this story will NOT contain romance or slash. I mean, sure, there will be the canonical background romances that are in the books and movies, but that's IT. I'm just not that kind of writer- yet.**

**You don't have to fear- I'm not planning on making any OC's main characters or feature any cheesy romances with them. They are there for the enrichment of the story alone.**

**THANK YOU for reading and sticking with this story, no matter if you reviewed it or not. I'm just grateful to know that people out there are (hopefully) enjoying it. **

**Also, a big shout-out and thank-you to:**

**Teapot of transformation (love your penname by the way)**

**GreyLynx**

**Borys68**

**Vonowe**

**GGina8**

**DarylDixon'sgirl1985**

**Goddess Rhiannon**

**silmelinde**

**Oleanne**

**And all anonymous reviewers!**


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